it's the innocence of flowers
which do not peek
from their hiding spaces
between icy pavement cracks
scars, gulfs
held together by only trodden pieces of chewing gum.
how beautiful, i think
that they do not need anyone else
to bandage them
when they have broken.
it is the colour of him
reaching for my hand
in the cool night air
and the sparklers we wield like wands
casting love spells into the night
the shrieks of fireworks
bursting in the air,
bursting.
we are igniting, erupting,
beautiful.
and it is the poems i wrote
before I laid eyes on him,
words plucked like flowers
from the ground,
but not my chest
because before him
i was empty.
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Paint By Numbers || Gawsten
Fanfiction"everything's an art form when you're born with the wrong colour palette and shaking hands." in which a coffee addicted poet falls for the blue haired barista. completed. geoff's pov. told in poems. lowercase intended. each part is a different...
